


Stuck in the middle

by millygal



Category: Life on Mars (UK)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-16
Updated: 2017-04-16
Packaged: 2018-10-19 14:29:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10641789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/millygal/pseuds/millygal
Summary: Gene has no Rhythm.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Pure, unadulterated CRACK. I'm sorry, so sorry for this. Probably the result of last nights ep, too much coffee and a tiring day at work.

They'd been in the pub for eight hours solid. Having finally slammed the door shut on the case to end all bloody cases. A convicted serial killer had escaped from nutter transport during transfer. That'd been a week ago and they'd been steadily moving heaven and earth to find and lock the bastard back up.

That morning they'd managed it. They'd stumbled on him taking a piss in a back alley during their never ending door to doors. It hadn't been a great win. They'd only got him by accident. He'd racked up another two bodies before they'd found him but at least now he was back inside padded walls.

So, pub. Gene hadn't had a good stiff drink in forever. 72 hours felt a lot like forever, anyway. God help him but he'd been sober as a judge when they'd cuffed that arsehole. That was a situation he'd intended to remedy. So, pub.

The team had assembled at the bar, one long line of extremely tired coppers, and proceeded to almost empty Nelson's whiskey, scotch and vodka stocks. They'd played copious amounts of varied and very fucked up drinking games.

_Down a double bourbon every time the Guv say's shit. Down a treble voddie every time the Guv calls Tyler 'Gladys'. Sink a single, double and treble one after the other, every time the Guv thumps Tyler._

The Guv being the violent, insufferably foul mouthed git he was, resulted in the entire team thinking they were pink flamingos and trying to chirp the national anthem.

Somewhere around 5am Nelson had called 'Time' on the little shindig and they'd all stumbled, crawled or hobbled off in their separate directions. All, that was, except the DCI and his deputy. Gene hadn't been able to stand and Sam, not fairing much better, had latched onto the Guv's side and they'd penguin waddled their way back to Tyler's flat.

Now, it's a well documented fact that alcohol makes you horny. Less well documented, though no less prevalent was the fact that Gene Hunt and Sam Tyler had been going at it like bunnies for almost six weeks. Snatching time in between cases, finding dark, dank little corners to do unspeakable things to each other. Both buggering off out the office or pub at different times just for Gene to bust through Sam's door at some god awful hour so they could shag like a couple of rabid animals in heat.

Sam didn't know how he'd kept his hands off the Guv all night. For some reason he never looked sexier than when his hair was all ruffled and his eyes were all muzzy from the affects of the booze. He also, rather disturbingly, found the smell of well aged whiskey on the older man's breath a complete turn on. So every time the Guv had laughed in his face or shouted at him he'd had an instant, violent hard on. He'd spent half the night hunched in the corner willing his boner to admit defeat and piss off.

Gene, it turned out was no less randy than his DI, just seemed to be able to hide it better was all. The minute they'd shut the door to Tyler's flat he'd pounced. Snatching Sam's wrists in his hands he'd pinned them above his head and pressed himself against the smaller man.

Sam'd spent ten blissful minutes being used as a chew toy. Pissed sex was, of course the best kind of sex. Everything has a sharpness, even in amongst the alcohol addled confusion. Everything feels harder and faster and infinitely more pleasurable when you're off your nut on cheap plonk.

As fast as Gene had attached his tongue to Sam's neck, he'd withdrawn. Leaving the poor bloke feeling bereft.

Flashing him a wonky grin and readjusting his ever hardening cock, Gene'd swung round and headed for Sam's radio. Twiddling the nob until he'd found a suitable station. The fast, thumping strains of _'Stuck in the middle with you'_ burst into life around them.

Sam'd just been contemplating asking Gene what the hell he thought he was doing leaving him with such an horrific hard on when he noticed the dopey look on his Guv's face. _Oh no, he isn't gonna..._ and with the absolute clarity that being pissed as a hand cart provides, Gene'd started to wiggle his arse in what Sam could only assume Gene had thought was a provocative and sexy manner.

Sam shook his head, instantly regretting it. Everything swum in and out of focus. Although he wasn't sure if that was the result of the whiskey still pumping round his system or the way in which his DCI was attempting to undo the button on his trousers whilst flinging his left foot in the air, apparently trying to dislodge one of his cream coloured slip on's.

Eventually succeeding in relieving himself of both shoes, Gene'd begun to swing his hips left and right _'Clowns to the left of me, jokers to the right, I'm stuck in the middle with you'_ hooking his thumbs under his waist band and yanking his trousers down his legs.

Gene had absolutely no sense of rhythm. What made it even worse was he'd managed to get his pants lodged and tangled round his feet, making him tumble off balance and land heavily on his bum.

By this point Sam could barely stand. Tears of pure unsuppressed glee were streaming down his face. The man in front of him looked like a beached whale trying to wrangle itself back to sea. Surprisingly unperturbed by Sam's opinion of his quite frankly magnificent strip tease, Gene had finally managed to get his legs free. Springing back to his feet, he'd eyed his DI in what Sam could only assume he'd felt was an irresistibly sexy way.

Attempting to choke back his barks of laughter Sam'd raised his 'brows and gestured for Gene to continue.

It's probably worth mentioning that there is nothing quite like the sight of a six foot something, blonde, blue eyed, usually formidable man stood in full vest, shirt and arse length coat on the top half, whilst the bottom is completely devoid of garments. Sam could just see the underside of his Guv's testicles poking out from under his shirt tails. Hi-fucking-larious.

Divesting himself of coat and shirt quite successfully, Gene'd started on the vest, latching onto the bottom and pulling upwards. _The vest, oh the vest_. Well, it certainly added something. Something so funny Sam's brain had started to drip out his ears. What he wouldn't have given for his camera phone right then. That'd certainly be one for the division notice board.

Sam thought his brain might actually implode. The aforementioned vest was now firmly wedged about Gene's shoulders. Somehow he'd managed to twist it completely around. Trapping himself inside. Arms poking out of the holes, waving and flailing like a windmill in dire distress.

"Oi, Tyler, help a fella out would ya!"

That was all it took for Sam to completely lose his footing and topple sideways, laughing hysterically, clutching at his sides and gasping for air.

One thing, Sam knew for sure. He was never going to be able to listen tothat song _ever_ again.


End file.
